


negation

by venndaai



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Addiction, And probably OOC, Class Issues, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Other, Self harming behavior, because this is about Seivarden, neuroatypical character, this got embarrassingly personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seivarden's having difficulty with eating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	negation

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings in tags.

She used to quite like skel. Well, no, like was probably too strong a word for such a bland substance, no one could like skel, but its slick yet gritty texture had been vaguely comforting: a sign that she was in space, on her ship, right where she should be. Pastries and meat were wonderful in tea shops or private sitting rooms on stations, but such things were best as occasional delicacies, punctuations between regular, unchanging bowls of skel.

And surely it should have been even more comforting, to return to that old familiarity, after a decade- no, more than that- of eating whatever she could get whenever she remembered or cared enough to?

And yet. When they'd reached Omaugh Station, and she'd gotten carried away by a swell of false confidence, determined to stop being a burden on Breq, convinced she could live on her own, she'd been a captain of the Imperial Fleet, she could handle the trivialities of day to day existence- when she'd sat down in the communal mess hall, hands itching in cheap extruded gloves, and picked up a steel fork and speared a green leaf, brought it to her lips- she'd dry-heaved, right there surrounded by a crowd of staring- people on basic assignments- and of course she couldn't know their stories, some of them might have been there for similar reasons to herself, that was what Breq would say but all she could hear was her mother's voice hissing at her not to disgrace her house in front of the _lower classes_ , but she couldn't stop retching, and she didn't know _why_ , just somehow the _smell_ -

In the two weeks since then, she'd survived a truly terrible tea party, made friends with an Awer, defied the Lord of the Radch to her face, _shot_ the Lord of the Radch, refused assignment, again from the _fucking Lord of the Radch_ , and somehow not thrown herself out an airlock when a tired medic had told her Breq might not wake up, she really ought to have gotten a medal for that one. And now she was a senior officer again, even if only of a Mercy, and people seemed to think she could handle acting like one. Yet here she was again, in the Amaat decade room, staring at a bowl of skel.

The ship wasn't scheduled to undock for another two days. She had a salary now; Breq had even paid her an advance, in case she needed anything. She couldn't spend it on- anything illegal, of course, not with Ship and Station both watching her (though there were ways around that, she'd gotten on for a while on Stations before she'd been caught)- but she could certainly go down to the concourse and purchase a month's supply of packaged meals, or send an Amaat soldier to do it for her. But the image of eating even a cheap premade meal at the decade table while the soldiers around her swallowed down their skel made her feel even sicker, and the idea of eating alone in her officer's quarters was almost worse.

No. She could deal with this. It was just food, for Varden's sake.

She stared at her bowl blankly for another three minutes, then dumped its contents into the recycler and stalked out into the corridor, feeling Amaat decade's twenty eyes burning her back. The decade room door hissed closed behind her, and she walked aft, towards the lifts and, two decks down, the gym and firing range.

Firing range first. Ship needed accurate evaluations and she was planning on pushing her muscles until her arms shook so. Gym second. She was relieved that both appeared to be empty. Well, of course they were. Amaat decade was eating, Etrepa was asleep and Bo was on watch. No one to watch her embarrass herself, except Ship of course. And Breq through Ship.

The shooting seemed to take forever, but by the time it was done she could feel herself relaxing a bit. Her score was, well, not quite as terrible as she'd feared, but still pretty bad. Way down near the bottom of the shipwide rankings, which was unacceptable. _Mercy of Kalr_ 's soldiers had never seen any combat. Seivarden had to be better than them. Next time Breq needed someone to hold a gun to Anaander Mianaai, she had to be confident that Seivarden would be able to shoot straight.

The gym was even more of an ego-crusher, but that was all right, because at least her terrible shape meant she was able to tire herself out quickly, running laps and punching a dummy and nearly dislocating a shoulder trying to do pull-ups. She ran again until her lungs and legs screamed and then kept running a while longer. It felt good.

“Lieutenant,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said in her ear.

She rubbed a towel over her sweat-drenched hair, feeling her heart thud against her ribcage. “Yes, Ship?”

“As an officer,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said, “you are at liberty to eat in the officer's mess, or with your decade, whichever you prefer.” There was a mild emphasis implying that the first option was the more socially acceptable.

“Oh,” Seivarden said. “I didn't know.”

“I thought you might not, Lieutenant. After all, you have never served on a human-crewed ship before. Or a Mercy this size.”

“No,” Seivarden said, face burning. “I haven't.”

With only four officers, each on different shifts, there wouldn't be much in the way of mealtime company. But that was fine. That had to be better than embarrassing herself in front of the soldiers she was supposed to lead.

When she found the officer's mess during the day's second meal period, it wasn't quite empty. The ship's medic was there, sipping a bowl of tea, pale eyes unfocused in the way that meant she was reading something only she and Ship could see. A Kalr soldier at the door asked if she could get Seivarden anything. “Skel, please,” Seivarden said, a lot more confidently than she felt. She tried to take a seat gracefully, but felt like a lumbering monster. She was beginning to be aware, lately, of the amount of space she naturally took up, the way she spread her limbs out to fill available room, the way she laughed and spoke too loudly. Her arms were creeping up to fold over her chest. She unfolded them, laid her gloved palms flat on the surface of the table until the Kalr brought her a bowl- warm and steaming, and slightly salty, when Seivarden managed an experimental bite.

After the first leaf, it was easier. Seivarden was unspeakably grateful for the higher quality, the trace of salt, the temperature of the bowl, the silence in the room. But it was like Breq was sitting next to her, quietly pointing out that she was only getting all of that because she was an officer. Well, so what! It was harder to be an officer. Your Aptitudes had to be better. Surely it was only proper that greater contributions came with greater rewards.

 _Greater contributions?_ she thought the next day as she reviewed her scores at the firing range, sounding slightly hysteric even in her own head. She was still firmly in the bottom tenth percentile. And Aptitudes? Ha! Maybe fifteen year old Seivarden Vendaai had deserved special privileges. But what did she have to do with this clumsy rude disaster who every soldier aboard the ship knew was only senior lieutenant because her house name had meant something a thousand years ago and because she was kneeling to the Mianaai Fleet Captain?

Of course she didn't voice any of this to Breq, but Breq still managed to walk past her when she was on bridge duty and say quietly and flatly, “Stop pitying yourself.” Two nearby Amaats studiously pretended they hadn't heard a thing. Seivarden was very glad she was dark enough not to noticeably redden.

A few days later they left the station and any chance of getting different food. So that was. Good. Seivarden got in the habit of skipping the first meal of the day entirely, going to the gym and running until the bile rose in her throat, then shooting, then washing, standing uncomfortably while two Amaats soaped her down, something she'd found relaxing when she had ancillaries (when _Justice of Toren_ had been washing her, oh God, oh fuck) but which now made her strangely unsettled, though not as badly as when they made her tea, because making tea was supposed to be her job, but now Kalr soldiers were making Breq's tea and Amaats were making tea for Seivarden and that was. Totally fine. Then going on duty.

After nine hours on shift she was usually hungry enough to eat with Medic, swallowing mouthfuls of skel whole, quick enough not to notice texture or taste. She ate what was in her bowl as rapidly as she could so she could spend the rest of the meal period making conversational contributions, laughing brightly at appropriate points and generally trying to seem healthy and successful. It wasn't that hard. Medic was genuinely funny in ways even Seivarden could appreciate.

Half the time Ekalu was there too, or Tisarwat, silent and downcast. Sometimes Breq invited Seivarden to a meal in the captain's quarters, or showed up in the officer's mess. The schedule was set up so that every seventh shift, all the officers could eat together. Nobody paid attention to how much Seivarden was or wasn't eating. It was fine.

On-duty hours were the best. All she had to think about was doing her job and doing it well. She only ever fucked up when she was off duty. Only minor things, at least they seemed minor, saying the wrong thing or laughing at the wrong time and seeing people close up and move away or worse, say “Yes, sir,” flat, like ancillaries but _not_. It made her wonder how often she was fucking up and _not_ noticing. She thought about that when she was standing in the bath, or lying on her cot in the half-darkness, or pushing leaves of skel around a white porcelain bowl. But it was fine.

Her physical training scores at last began to rise. Lieutenant Tisarwat's had started at the very bottom, but soon began to improve as well, though slower than Seivarden's. Of course the top slot would never be occupied by any name but Breq's. Seivarden made up excuses to hang around when Ship told her that Breq was practicing. Breq moved fast and fluid as a dancer, hitting target after target after target, and Seivarden watched from behind the clear walls of the target range, guilty shivers chilling and warming her all at once.

 

* * *

 

Sex with Ekalu was fucking great. Seivarden hadn't really expected it to be, had tried to prepare for disappointment with her own body, for sympathetic understanding if Ekalu's performance turned out to be subpar. But to her surprise it went quite well. So she got off embarrassingly quickly, well, that was to be expected, but after that she was able to focus on pleasing her partner, and it turned out she remembered everything she'd learned about that, and all the time she'd spent, so long ago, teaching herself to be good at this, turned out not to be wasted after all, and making Ekalu shriek into a bare fist was both satisfying and really hot.

“Fuck,” Ekalu said, collapsing hot and sticky onto the bunk. “I was not expecting that.”

Seivarden laughed. She felt loose-limbed and relaxed, and for the first time in weeks kef didn't seem at all attractive. Chemicals shooting to her brain, she supposed. “That was pretty great,” she said, then, realizing how obnoxious that might sound, “for me, I mean. It's been. Well. It's been a long time.”

“I noticed,” Ekalu said dryly, the burr of her accent stronger than when they were on duty.

It had been really very good. Better even than she remembered sex being back _before_ , certainly better than- whatever might have happened in between which she didn't even want to dignify by classing as sexual experiences. She wanted there to be repeats of this. She wanted Ekalu to like her enough to repeat it.

She touched Ekalu's back. Bare skin, smooth and warm, and right now, here, she was allowed to touch, to luxuriate in physical sensation. What she'd wanted, every time her fingers brushed Breq's, handing her tea, and no, she really didn't want to be thinking about Breq right now.

“So,” Ekalu said, conversationally, having caught her breath and brushed her hair out of her face, “ _are_ you kneeling to Sir?” and _fuck_.

 

* * *

 

“Lieutenant,” Medic asked, her sharp accent making even the most casual inquiry into pointed commentary, “are you eating enough?”

Seivarden paused in the act of scraping half her bowl of skel into the recycling on her way out of the mess. Her heart dropped into her boots. “Yes?” she tried.

“Really,” Medic said, eyes narrowing, and Seivarden knew she was looking straight through Seivarden's skin, ocular implants measuring the vitamins in her blood, the density of her bones, the speed of her heart. “It doesn't look that way to me.”

“Well,” Seivarden said, sheepish, part of her unreasonably panicked, “it's just that I... don't care much for skel.” She winced, hearing the statement replay in her head, hearing her own unavoidably snobby accent, _I don't care much for skel,_ exactly like a spoiled fop in a shipboard comedy programme.

“Nobody cares much for skel, Lieutenant,” Medic said. “Hmm. Are you a picky eater in general?”

Surely she'd already know the answer, having Seivarden's full records on file. “No,” Seivarden said, of course she wasn't, she'd spent years eating things she sometimes remembered in her nightmares. “Well, when I was a kid, but I grew out of it.” For some reason talking about that made her unaccountably uncomfortable.

“Hmmmmmmmm,” Medic said again, longer and more drawn out. “Well, this evening I'll give you a supplement to add to your meals. It should make them more palatable and wake up your appetite. You have a responsibility to stay in shape, you know. That includes eating your skel.”

“Yes, Medic,” Seivarden said. There was a weird anger bubbling at the pit of her stomach. She wanted to go to the gym and punch things. Instead she took a few deep breaths, then sent Ekalu a message asking if she was doing anything later. It was time to go on shift. On her way to the bridge, she hummed a few bars of a vulgar old song, trying to force her anger out with the sound.

 

* * *

  

The first thing Seivarden did on her second trip to Athoek Station, after all the excitement was over, was check in with Tisarwat in the Undergarden headquarters and change into a set of exercise clothes. The second thing she did was head to the Gardens.

Plenty of citizens of all kinds were out and about, and none of them gave her a second glance. She knew the route from her very brief stint as a station laborer, but it had changed even in the past week. The repairs were nearly done, and people were louder, more cheerful. Too loud, and too colorful. Silently, Seivarden asked Ship if she could have some music. A moment later the sounds of the station were gently washed away by the bright pop tunes of a long-gone century.

The Gardens, now that they'd been repressurized, were impressively beautiful, even in their ruined state, and Seivarden guessed they wouldn't be ruined long, with the number of people out replacing dead plants with living ones and shoring up landscape elements, not all of them in botanist's green. Seivarden wasn't there for the flowers, but for the large open track around the Garden perimeter.

She'd just finished her fifth circuit when the music in her ears gently faded away, and she looked up, into the Fleet Captain's face.

“Come to lunch with me,” Breq said, and of course it wasn't a suggestion.

She'd expected Breq to bring her somewhere foreign in the Undergarden where she wouldn't even be able to read the menu, but instead they sat down at a small cafe right by the Gardens' walls that had a very Radchaai menu and what were probably very contemporary Radchaai decorations. Seivarden looked at the menu. This ought to be easy. It ought to be fun. She should be able to read the descriptions and pick something out, and when it came she should be able to eat it and enjoy it. It wouldn't be skel, it would be tasty and filling and Radchaai.

She blinked back tears of frustrated anger. She'd already cried enough that week for a lifetime. She wasn't going to do it now in front of Breq.

Breq said, “Would you like me to order for you?”

Seivarden nodded, not making eye contact.

“Smoked salmon and rice,” Breq said, when the server came to take their order. “And fruit salad and stuffed bread for me. And tea for both of us, the house brew.”

The tea came first and Seivarden drank it gratefully. It was good, strong and unsweetened and hot. Drinking it gave her something to do with her hands besides cross them over her chest. She took out her medication from her shoulder bag and swallowed it down with the tea, because it wasn't like Breq couldn't see her whenever she did it anyway so there was no point in being shy about it. 

“Seivarden,” Breq said, and Seivarden's fingers clenched around the delicate tea bowl, gloves insulating her fingers from the heat. “Athoek Station told me you nearly killed yourself from alcohol poisoning. Partly because you hadn't eaten anything that day.”

She almost wanted to laugh in relief that the _food_ was what Breq wanted to talk about and not Seivarden drinking up half her arrack, or the fact that Seivarden did it because she was so fucking close to going on kef, or the fact that- that she'd kept drinking because she didn't want to wake up and have to keep on _going_. But she didn't. Didn't laugh. Didn't put down her tea.

“Have you eaten today?” Breq asked. So flat. Seivarden had gotten pretty good at telling apart Breq's moods, but it was never by her voice or face but by the stiffness of her movements, the stillness of her hands, the pitch of her constant humming.

Pointless to ask Seivarden when she could just ask Ship and know she was getting the truth, but maybe this was a test. Or maybe just common courtesy. “I had tea,” Seivarden said.

Silence, except for the humming. Seivarden recognized the tune. It was an opera from her time. It would be nice to think that Breq was humming it because she was thinking of her.

“I'm sorry,” Breq said.

The laugh burst sudden, startled and ugly from Seivarden's chest, more an expression of confusion than anything else. “What the hell for?” Seivarden asked. She could not remember a single time when Breq had apologized to her, or to anyone else for that matter. It was wrong. Breq shouldn't be apologizing, especially not to Seivarden. “Sir,” she added, belatedly remembering herself.

“I haven't been paying enough attention to you,” Breq said, and now Seivarden was just completely discombobulated. “I think I may have been deliberately not paying attention to you. Because of my own... issues.”

Seivarden wondered if that meant,  _Because I was too busy thinking about my tragic memories of when I killed the person I loved and had most of myself destroyed, besides which your problems pale utterly,_ or _, Because I can't help but compare you to Awn, who was better than you'll ever be despite not having half of your breeding,_ or, _Because I didn't like you when I was Justice of Toren and I like you even less now, you're a pathetic excuse for an officer who breaks her hand on walls and spends half her paid hours in Medical._ There were a lot of possible options, and Seivarden had had plenty of time to consider them all herself. She fervently hoped Breq wouldn't verify which one was the truth.

Breq said, “I should have been paying attention. You're one of my officers. You're my responsibility.”

Seivarden put down the tea, folded her hands under her armpits and said, “If you're trying to make me feel better, Captain, you're doing a piss poor job of it.”

Breq groaned and rubbed a gloved hand over her face, such an unmistakably human gesture that it left Seivarden staring open-mouthed.

“Your meal, sirs,” the waiter said, and presented them with large dishes piled with glistening delicacies.

“Thank you,” Seivarden said, a second after Breq did, the sound staggering behind, a disharmony. The waiter bowed and left.

The fish was pale and flaking. The rice was garnished with pretty sprigs of green. The smell of good food wafted up from the plates, drifted into Seivarden's nostrils and set her stomach churning.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and she pushed the plates away from her gingerly. “I'm really not hungry.”

“All right,” Breq said, with uncharacteristic placidity. “Would you like some fruit?”

She would like some fruit, actually. Breq moved the plate towards her, and she picked out a piece of something bright red and covered with large seeds, brought it to her mouth and chewed, flavor bursting on her tongue, seeds crunching between her teeth.

“Do you remember,” Breq said, “we had a meal quite like this on Omaugh Station, after I got you out of lockup?”

She generally tried not to remember most of what had happened on Omaugh, but in the end it was impossible to forget. She'd made a fool of herself, practically drooling at Breq, spending the lunch saying all the wrong things because all she could think about was how she'd missed it, until she'd seen Breq in civilized clothes and she couldn't ignore the obvious any more, and Breq had stared at that girl and Seivarden had been sick with frustration and self-hatred knowing that Breq wasn't even an ascetic, she just wasn't interested in Seivarden and after all why would she be, just because Seivarden had apparently been interested in her for the better part of a year and never even realized, and it didn't matter because Breq liked people who were more exotic and interesting and pretty and, let's face it, less of a _total asshole-_

But yes, she remembered what Breq meant. Breq trying to get her to eat, and Seivarden eventually accepting a bowl of fruit.

“It's understandable that I didn't pay much attention then,” Breq said. “I was somewhat distracted at the time.”

“Oh,” Seivarden said. “Yes. I suppose you were planning out how to instigate bloody galactic civil war.” So ridiculous to say, like something out of a children's entertainment, not anything that could actually happen, not in the Radch. But it had, and Seivarden wasn't a citizen of the Radch any more. Even that part of her had been rewritten.

“Mmm,” Breq agreed. She took a sip of tea. Placed the bowl back down. “But I have no excuse for not paying attention since then.”

“Breq,” Seivarden said. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She flashed one of her brief perfect smiles, facial muscles arranging themselves into a clear human expression for a fraction of an instant and then smoothing out again. “I know. Eat some more fruit.”

She did.

“We're going to have lunch every day, while we're both on the station,” Breq said. Seivarden blinked in shock.

“Surely you don't have the time to-” she started.

“Probably not,” Breq interrupted, and took another sip of tea. “But I can work while I eat. Or I can bring someone along and work with them. Either way, we will be eating together. Try the melon.”

She tried the melon. It wasn't quite as good as the red fruit, but she still managed to finish the whole bowl before Breq had to leave.

 

* * *

 

She felt unsettled the rest of the day, tired and yet restless. Station told her where Ekalu would be after dinner, and she found her chatting with young Tisarwat. Seivarden brushed her shoulder and asked, “Doing anything important right now?”

Ekalu grinned, teeth flashing. “Excuse me,” she said to Tisarwat, who made a disgusted face. Seivarden laughed and winked at Tisarwat, who groaned and turned her back on them. Then Ekalu was taking Seivarden's arm and dragging her around a corner into a deserted cluster of storage crates and pressing her up against a wall and kissing her hard and deep. Seivarden grabbed Ekalu's amazing ass and ground their bodies together, the friction driving all doubts and worries from her overheated head, replaced by simple need.

They managed to make their way to the nearest place selling rooms by the hour, Ship processing the transaction on their behalf, Seivarden thinking only of getting into the room, waiting for the door to slide closed and then removing her uniform as quickly as she could and sinking down onto her knees on the rough scratchy carpet. Ekalu looked her over, eyes half-lidded with lust, and then something changed and she took half a step back, startled, the lust disappearing.

Seivarden sat back, chest tight, throat tighter. “What is it?” she demanded.

“It's nothing,” Ekalu said.

“No,” Seivarden said, with growing anger, “it obviously isn't, so just tell me.”

Ekalu swallowed, and her hands pulled nervously at the edges of her jacket. “It's just- you've gotten so, so thin,” she said. “It just surprised me, that's all.”

Well, there went Seivarden's own arousal. “Oh,” she said, crossing her arms. A particularly pointless gesture when one was completely naked. At least it partly hid her ribs from the burn of Ekalu's glance, though she was all of a sudden far too aware of the hollows above her collarbone and the jutting edges of her hips. She was much thinner and uglier a year ago, but she didn't care then, she was on kef and anyone she might have wanted to look good for was a thousand years dead. Her eyes burned, and to her horror she felt tears beginning to well at their corners. Breaking down in front of Breq would have been bad enough, but at least Breq wouldn't have been surprised. Even if Ekalu's opinion of Seivarden was “self absorbed asshole”, at least before today it hadn't been “pathetic self absorbed _wreck_ ”. _Seivarden, darling, you can never show weakness of moral character in front of your lessers. We have a responsibility to set an example._ Shut _up_ , mother.

To her credit, Ekalu looked fully as appalled as Seivarden felt. “Oh, Gods,” she exclaimed, and crouched down awkwardly next to her, still fully clothed, uniform rustling. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean- well, I didn't mean anything by it. As I said, I was surprised, and,” she hesitated, “maybe a bit concerned.”

Seivarden dashed away the tears with the back of her hand. “No, I'm the one who should be apologizing,” she said. “I've done nothing today but feel sorry for myself.”

Ekalu bit her lip. “Well,” she said, after a moment, “it is your day off, you're entitled to spend it as you like.”

This struck Seivarden as the funniest thing she'd ever heard, and she started giggling through her tears and congestion. Ekalu smiled tentatively.

“You're still beautiful,” Ekalu said, embarrassed but determined, “thin or not, and I suppose it isn't my business to be concerned. It's between you and Medic, and Ship, I guess. But I care about you.” She moved her gloved hand until it rested lightly on top of Seivarden's bare one. “If there's something wrong I'd like to know about it. If you want to tell me.”

Seivarden shifted, drew her knees closer to her chest without dislodging Ekalu's hand. “I don't deserve you,” she said.

It was Ekalu's turn to laugh. “I'm no theology expert, but I think that's for Amaat to judge. Not you.”

Seivarden sighed. “Will you walk me to station medical? After I get dressed I mean.” Though the idea of turning up like _this_ was amusing. “Just to make sure I don't lose my nerve.”

“I'd be happy to,” Ekalu said. “But you owe me a better date later.”

Well, that was something to look forward to. And lunch tomorrow, with Breq, which would be awkward but would also be a whole half hour with someone she never got to spend enough time with. And later there would be more time to tease the kid, and maybe she'd pass Basnaaiad or Celar on the concourse and they'd smile and wave hello.

That was a lot, really. That was more than enough.

"Here," Ekalu said, "let me help you with that," and she fastened the buttons on Seivarden's overshirt, and there was that weird double wham of disorientation, because yes, someone like Ekalu ought to be helping her dress, and no, that was wrong, that was a terrible thought, and no, she ought to be the one dressing Ekalu, she longed for that so strongly there had to be something perverted about it, and God, why did everything have to be so difficult when you were trying to be a better person?

But she shoved all those thoughts away, like flicking away a buzzing insect, and let herself fill with warmth at the touch of Ekalu's hands, at her nearness and her smile.

"Right," Ekalu said, "you're good to go," and Seivarden nodded, smiled back, said, "Yes, I suppose I am."

 


End file.
